


A Loyal Man and True

by osprey_archer



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“And in any case, it’s not treason to notice that your sovereign has </i>faults<i>,” Raoul said.  </i></p>
<p>
  <i>“It is when an Eldorne does it,” Lerant muttered.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Loyal Man and True

Since he had come to Corus, Lerant had visited his aunt Delia in her captivity every month. If it were up to him, he would have let her alone to rot. But his grandfather insisted he should visit, and Lerant, unlike his aunt, obeyed when his elders gave him orders. 

And after every visit to Aunt Delia, Lerant climbed Balor’s Needle to speak to the king. It made Lerant anxious. Although the king never consulted papers while Lerant was there, Lerant knew that the king was checking Lerant’s account of the conversation against that of the guard who was always by Delia’s side. What if Lerant in all innocence forgot something? Would the king take it as evidence of secret communication - of conspiracy? 

By the time he had reached the top of Balor’s Needle, Lerant’s shirt clung to his sweat-soaked back. He dried his sweaty hands on his hose before he entered. 

The king sat at his desk. He looked up and smiled when Lerant entered, his blue eyes warm. “Lerant of Eldorne,” he said. “How is your aunt?” 

“The same as ever, Your Majesty,” Lerant said, bowing. The first year, the question had almost panicked him; the first year, he had almost fallen over in his haste to bow. 

The king chuckled, as if to say that he and Lerant both knew just how Delia was. It flickered through Lerant’s mind to wonder if the king ever went to see Delia. But the thought was gone almost as swiftly as it had come. The king continued to smile a kindly, almost fatherly smile. Lerant felt a bead of sweat roll down his back, soaking the waist of his hose. 

It was as if that were a signal for the king, because he spoke again. “I hear you argued,” he said. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lerant said, looking the king in the face - but not staring too much; that was rude. He clasped his hands behind his back so tightly that they ached. 

“What did you argue about?” the king asked, leaning forward, his loosely clasped hands between his knees and his sympathetic blue eyes on Lerant. They were a warm blue, but - so _blue_. It was unnatural, almost hypnotizing. _Like a snake’s eyes_ Lerant thought, before he could stop himself. 

“I’ve been trying to get a post in your majesty’s army,” Lerant blurted. He stopped, looking down to gather himself. “It’s been...difficult.” He glanced at the king, who continued to look at him sympathetically. “No one wants to take on an Eldorne, you know, of course, because of her treason - her treason has made things hard for my house - I’m not complaining!” He glanced at the king, but that sympathetic look had not flickered. Lerant found his gaze dropping to the ground again. “I’m not complaining. Lord Raoul has been very kind. But still I...I asked her why she...you know…”

Delia had looked at him disdainfully when he asked, and then began to laugh. The sound wasn’t quite sane, and it made the hairs on Lerant’s neck stand on end. “Does it matter now?” she asked him. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Lerant said. 

She had sneered. And she had said - 

“And she said it was because you had jilted her. As if that were a good reason to commit treason!” 

The king made a sympathetic noise. “What would be a good reason to commit treason?” he asked. 

The king asked it idly, looking out the window of Balor’s Needle at the walls of the palace and the city of Corus spread out below. He glanced at Lerant, his lips quirking in a smile, as if the question were a joke he was inviting Lerant to share. 

“Nothing,” Lerant whispered.

“Hmm?” said the king, with the polite frown of a man who wants to listen but can’t quite hear.

“Nothing would be a good reason to commit treason, Your Majesty,” Lerant said, loud and clear. 

“Mmm,” said the king. He smiled, and placed a heavy hand on Lerant’s head: a benediction. “I’m very busy today,” he said, turning back to his desk. “That’s all.” 

***

Lord Raoul waited for Lerant outside the palace. “How did it go?” he asked. 

“Fine, sir,” said Lerant. That was what he always said when Lord Raoul asked. Lerant was not going to add cares to his lord’s already full list of worries by complaining. He was an Eldorne: the Eldornes knew how to bear suffering. 

Except Aunt Delia, apparently. High treason - because she’d been jilted! _Jilted_! She had been lying, he knew it, she hadn’t even pretended that she was telling the truth. She had tossed the reason before him as if she were tossing a bone to a starving dog, and sat back and watched and sneered to see him snap at it. 

Lerant and Lord Raoul walked away from the palace. Lerant could hear the pages practicing in the distance, shouting as they thrust and lunged. He wished he could plug his ears. 

“Jon and I,” said Lord Raoul, after a while, “were boon companions when we were squires, and he’s still very dear to me. But I’m not as blind to his faults as I once was.” 

Lerant’s fists clenched at his sides. What was he supposed to say to that? They walked on, and Lerant tried to leave the words behind them, but finally he cried, “Did he send you to test me, too?” 

“ _Test_ you? What do you mean?”

Too late, Lerant saw the trap. “Nothing,” he blurted, and cursed himself, because that was so obviously a lie. A lying Eldorne, what a surprise. “I mean - I mean - ” He cast about for something to say, something that light and funny and charming (like the king would say) that would explain his comment away -

“The king doesn’t trust me,” Lerant blurted. 

Something other than _that_. 

But it was said. Lerant blundered on, “I don’t _blame_ him, sir. I wouldn’t trust Eldornes either, after Aunt Delia - after what she did...” He stopped, looking up at Lord Raoul uncertainly.

“Jon is not a trusting man,” said Lord Raoul. “And he’s right not to be: he’s a king. But he is...he can be…”

Lord Raoul, Lerant realized with astonishment, was having difficulty deciding what to say. 

“He holds grudges,” Lord Raoul said. “That is what I meant earlier. He holds a grudge against your aunt, and I have the impression…” He peered intently at Lerant’s face, and Lerant clenched his jaw so as not to give anything away. “I just worried that maybe he took it out on you.” 

Lerant shook his head, jaw clenched. Lord Raoul still peered at him. Lerant unclenched his jaw, and managed to say, “He’s always been kind, sir.” 

“Of course,” said Lord Raoul. But he didn’t believe it: Lerant could tell. 

“He has!” Lerant shouted. 

“I believe you, lad,” Lord Raoul said. “This isn’t some sort of test. Jon didn’t ask me to test you. And I wouldn’t have agreed if he had.” 

Lerant’s face burned with shame. 

“And in any case, it’s not treason to notice that your sovereign has _faults_.” 

“It is when an Eldorne does it,” Lerant muttered. 

“If Jon thinks that,” Lord Raoul replied, “he’s wrong.”

Lerant didn’t look at him. He barely dared to breathe. “Sir,” he said. “Maybe - we should talk about something else, sir. Please?” 

“Of course,” Lord Raoul said; and at once he began to talk about the Bazhir horses that he’d gotten for the King’s Own. Swift horses, they were, and lighter than Tortallan chargers, so the army wouldn’t need to carry quite as much fodder along - but then a lighter horse couldn’t carry as much as a charger, so it was a trade-off...

Lerant nodded and nodded and walked with his eyes fastened on the ground. Little white daisies sprinkled the grass on either side of the path. 

Suddenly Lord Raoul broke off his easy discussion of the amount of feed a horse needed each day in the field. “Do you trust me, lad?” he asked. 

“With my life, sir,” Lerant said at once. 

“Sometimes it’s the smaller things that are harder to trust about,” Lord Raoul said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “What I mean is - I trust _you_ , Lerant.” 

Lerant was too surprised for tact. “Why?” 

“Because,” said Lord Raoul, “a sensible man doesn’t kill a chicken because it laid a bad egg. The house of Eldorne has a lot of good in it yet, if we’ll let the good eggs hatch.” He clapped a hand on Lerant’s shoulder. Lerant jumped. “You’re not your aunt, Lerant.”

“I know that,” Lerant snapped. 

“And it’s not fair that you have to walk on her eggshells.” 

“I don’t blame everyone for - ” Lerant began; but Lord Raoul raised a hand. Lerant stopped talking. Tears pricked his eyes. He _hated_ tears. They were just another kind of complaint. “That’s the way the world is, sir,” Lerant said fiercely. 

“I know,” said Lord Raoul. “But it’s all right - not to be happy about it, Lerant.” 

“Yes, sir,” Lerant muttered. 

Lord Raoul considered him: and then, bless the Goddess, he let it go. “There’s some word we’ll need to send a company of the Own to the Scanran border,” he said. “We need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Draw up a list of supplies.” 

Lerant let out a breath of relief. “Yes, sir!”


End file.
